


Can’t Spend My Whole Life Dreaming

by WaitingForMy



Series: A Bored Author Begs for One-Shot Requests [9]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coronavirus Outbreak of 2020, Finch is a good boyfriend, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Quarantine, Rated T for language, Zookeeper!Finch, request, trans!albert, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: Request: Hi, could I request some trans!Albert struggling with gender dysphoria and Finch comforting him? Basically some good quality Redfinch.
Relationships: Albert DaSilva/Finch (Newsies)
Series: A Bored Author Begs for One-Shot Requests [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704226
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	Can’t Spend My Whole Life Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dauntless_Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dauntless_Shadow/gifts).



> This is based on real experiences, and I feel like it’s important to note that irl the undisclosed movie was, in fact, Newsies.

“I’m gonna have to finish this another time.”

Finch frowned. Albert loved this movie, and it wasn’t late. “Okay. Are you feeling alright?” He ran his fingers through his boyfriend’s longish, red hair. He’d been overdue for a haircut  _ before _ the lockdown, and now...well, it was long.

Albert lightly batted Finch’s hand away. “I’m fine, I just have some stuff to do, and I’m tired.”

“Okay,” Finch agreed, growing more concerned as Albert stood up and headed for the bedroom. His voice had taken on that thick quality it always did when he was trying not to cry, which wasn’t often, but Finch had been around long enough to recognize it.

The lockdown had been hard on everyone, and they were no exception. The store where Albert worked closed down indefinitely, so he was stuck at home all day, while Finch still had to go into work at the zoo, because birds need food and water and head scritches no matter what. Unfortunately, that left Albert home alone all day without much to do.

Then, of course, there was the surgery. They didn’t talk about it much, but Finch knew Albert was crushed, of course. Not only did they have to put it off because of the pandemic, but since Albert was furloughed, and zookeeping isn’t exactly a high-paying job, they’d had to dip into the money Albert had saved for it just to eat and pay rent. Finch was crushed  _ for _ him.

Finch sighed and stood up from the couch. He turned off the TV and DVD player, folded their blanket and laid it over the back of the couch, and moved their half-eaten bowl of popcorn to the kitchen counter. Maybe they’d finish it tomorrow, maybe they wouldn’t. He poured their half-finished sodas down the sink. They’d be flat by tomorrow. He turned out the lights, except the tiny, lowkey ugly glass lamp on the end table that Finch’s grandmother had so kindly passed down to them for their apartment before she passed away. Neither of them had the heart to get rid of it, and it made an effective nightlight so they could see their way to the bathroom in the dark.

The light in the bedroom was still on, so Finch didn’t bother being quiet when he made his way in. Albert was lying on his stomach on the bed with his phone face-down next to his pillow, like he had been looking at something and gave up. Finch sat down next to him and rubbed his back, frowning as his fingers ran over a thick strip of fabric underneath his pajama top.

“Why didn’t you take this off?” he asked.

Albert shrugged. “Lazy.”

“How long have you had it on?”

He paused. “Since I got up, I guess.”

“When was that?”

“An hour or two after you left.”

(Finch had left for work at seven-forty. It was nine p.m.)

“Sit up,” Finch said, “I’ll help you get it off.” When Albert didn’t move, he sighed. “Come on, Al, sit up.”

Albert huffed, rolling into a sitting position. Finch pulled his shirt off over his head, then his binder, cringing at the red marks it left around the edges.

“Baby, you can’t leave that thing on so long.” Finch carefully rubbed his back, hard enough to work his almost certainly sore muscles but not so hard as to irritate his skin even more.

“I know,” Albert grumbled.

“What’s going on? You didn’t want to finish the movie—which is fine, of course—but you seem…?”

Albert sighed. “It’s just...hard to watch, knowing I’m never going to  _ be _ that, you know?”

A boy. That’s what he meant. And that? Finch scoffed, “Al, that’s bullshit.”

“I know,” Albert groaned, leaning back against him, “but with the surgery, and the whole fuckin’ pandemic, I—” He cut himself off. “Look, I don’t want to be a total karen, like, ‘I demand a haircut’ while people are dying of coronavirus, but it’s not doing wonders for my dysphoria or anything.”

Finch wrapped his arms around Albert’s middle and rested his chin on his shoulder. “Okay, first of all, I don’t think you’re a karen; I think you’re a man, and you look hot in a man-bun.”

Albert exhaled sharply in half a chuckle. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, your hair gets all luxurious when it’s long. I just look like a Q-tip. Second, if it’s bothering you that much, I will totally take our scissors and butcher your hair.”

They lapsed into silence, and Finch thought that was the end of it until a few minutes later, when Albert shifted out of his arms and turned around.

“Would you really?”

“What—cut your hair?” Finch shrugged. “I mean, it really won’t be good, but if you don’t care…”

“S’not like anyone’s gonna see it.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.” He climbed off the bed and headed towards the living room. “Find me a YouTube tutorial or something, and I’ll find the scissors.”

* * *

Half an hour, one YouTube tutorial, most of a bag of sour cream and onion Lay’s, and half an Avenged Sevenfold album later, Albert’s hair was short again, and Finch was taking a million pictures for Snapchat.

“I did so damn good,” he muttered to himself, grinning. “You should see how even it is in the back.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’ve got natural aptitude, you’re a god with scissors, I’m never paying money for a barber again. Wanna finish the movie, now?”

If it was possible, Finch’s grin grew even wider. “Hell yeah, handsome. Let’s go.”


End file.
